Treffy, with tears in his eyes, "I should indeed, sir."

So they all knelt down again, and in a few words the clergyman thanked
the dear Lord for His great love and goodness to old Treffy, in giving
him pardon for his sin.

And again old Treffy took up the words and added:--

"Thank you, Lord Jesus, very much for the gift; it cost Thee Thy life;
oh! I do thank Thee with all my heart."

"Now, Treffy," said the clergyman, as he rose to go, "if Satan comes to
you to-morrow and says, 'Old Treffy, do you feel you've got forgiveness?
perhaps after all it's a mistake,' what shall you say to him?"

"I think I shall tell him my text," said old Treffy, "'The blood of
Jesus Christ, His Son, cleanseth us from all sin.'"

"That will do, Treffy," said the clergyman; "he can't answer that. And
remember, the Lord wishes you to _know_ you are forgiven, not to _feel_
you are forgiven. There is a difference between feeling and knowing. You
_knew_ you had taken my gift, and you did not know what I meant when I
asked you if you _felt_ I had given it to you. It is the same with the
Lord's gift, Treffy. Your _feelings_ have nothing to do with your
safety, but your _faith_ has a great deal to do with it. Have you taken
the Lord at His word? Have you trusted Him? That is the question."

"Yes, sir," said Treffy, "I have."

"Then you _know_ you are forgiven," said the clergyman, with a smile.

"Yes, sir," said Treffy, brightly, "I can trust Him now."

Then Christie walked up to Treffy, and put the bunch of white snowdrops
in his hand.

"Miss Mabel gave me them," he said, "and she said I was to say a little
prayer whenever I looked at them: 'Wash me, and I shall be whiter than
snow.'"

"Whiter than snow," repeated the clergyman; "whiter than snow; Treffy!
that is a sweet word, is it not?"

"Yes," said old Treffy, earnestly, as he looked at the flowers, "whiter
than snow, washed white in the blood of Jesus."

Then the clergyman took his leave, but, as he was crossing the court, he
heard Christie running after him. He had a few of the lovely snowdrops
and a sprig of the dark myrtle in his hand.

"Please, sir," said Christie, "would you like a few of them?"

"Thank you, my boy," said the clergyman, "I should indeed."

He carried the snowdrops carefully home, and they taught him a lesson of
faith. The seed he had sown in the mission-room had not been lost.
Already two poor sin-stained souls had come to the fountain, and had
been wa